


Dreams of Peace

by emilykenobi (rogue5_echo3)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Old Friends, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, all the deaths at least alskdlaskdj, but not graphic (at least as of march 14 2021), will update for future chapters yikes i'm sorry it will all be canonical though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue5_echo3/pseuds/emilykenobi
Summary: [Y/N] is an orphan living on the streets of Mos Espa. After a chance encounter with Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, her life is forever changed. Suddenly, she's training to defend the galaxy as a Jedi, and for the first time in seven years, she has friends and others to look up to. Over time, her past becomes a distant memory, but when the unthinkable once again happens, she's thrust back into old patterns and fears—and she's not the only one whose faith is shaken. Yet, in the midst of the pain, the opportunity for growth, for hope—forlove—blossoms. Will she have the courage to hold onto the one person she has left, or will her fear of loss forever hold her back?
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Reader, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Reader, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Reader, Obi-Wan Kenobi/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. Are You a Jedi?

**32 BBY**

The streets of Mos Espa were alive with the chattering of different species. You slipped through the crowd, dancing between bodies, using them as your camouflage—noticing everything but remaining invisible to all those around you.

Every day, the sounds here were the same. The monotony comforted you; you certainly preferred it over silence. With noise, you knew what you were getting, could even picture in your mind the scene that created it without ever witnessing it. Silence, however, was where your imagination could run—free and wild and terrifying.

Noise, though…noise you couldn’t push away, and that day it was noise that acted as a catalyst for the overturning of your life.

“Please don’t kill me!” a woman begged as her dark hair was balled into the fist of a Trandoshan bounty hunter. Her voice was a knife in your gut, twisting with her every strangled, desperate breath. And her eyes—wide, and saturated with something wilder than panic. You couldn’t define it, but you felt it; it sunk like a rock, down to your very core, quickening your heartbeat and electrifying your muscles.

Before your conscious mind decided to intervene, your body sprang into action, and your legs propelled you forward, into the entrance of the alleyway.

The pair didn’t notice you, each too busy with their exchange, the Trandoshan dragging her deeper down the path, and the woman gasping for breath, for some sense of control. The smile on his face turned your stomach. His tongue darted out in a sadistic hiss; you wanted to cut it out of his mouth.

In one, swift, arching move, you removed your slingshot and a couple stones from your belt, the first fitting into the pocket like it was made for it. In the next, you drew back and released, where it landed between the eyes of the reptile, who released his hold on the woman’s hair to grasp at his face.

Two pairs of eyes were now trained on you. Rather than shrinking away into the shadows, you stood your ground, your mind serene—calm, even—as your heartbeat grew to a crescendo.

But your heart wasn’t the only one you could feel. You felt the scorched heart of the Trandoshan as the flame of anger flickered on its surface. However, before he could act on it, a second stone left your weapon and sank into a new target—this time, his throat.

His hands leapt to the assaulted area, from which came an awful choking sound.

He was focused on breathing (or, rather the lack of it), which allowed you to focus on his prey. “Go! Now!” you told her as you loaded your slingshot with another stone.

She froze for one, confused moment, staring at you, before jumping up from the ground, a flurry of dark hair, and running past you, whispering, “Thank you!”

With the woman out of sight, deep into the crowd by now, you stepped closer to the Trandoshan, whose voice had returned and whose fury had tripled.

“You cost me my quarry, girl!” he hissed, releasing his blaster from its holster and aiming it at you.

A spot above your left eyebrow began to tingle, and your vision tunneled until all you saw was the end of his weapon. You were quick, but to outrun blaster fire at point-blank range was too risky. So, instead of pelting him with another rock, you imagined that you could feel every oxygen molecule as it filled your lungs…and left your lungs…and you envisioned his mind in your own.

 _Here goes nothing_ , you thought before saying aloud, “You’re going to walk away.”

He laughed, and the hold holding the blaster faltered slightly. “I’m going to _sss_ hoot you where you stand!”

Unsurprised at your failed attempt, you closed your eyes and breathed in deep, centering yourself, imagining your mind floating in a calm sea. As you slowly opened them, you repeated yourself, in an entirely new voice that spoke of your success even before it unraveled before you. “You’re going to walk away.”

Immediately the defiant fire in his eyes turned to glass. “I…I’m going to walk away.”

You smiled and breathed out. Confidence now seeping out of you, you continued. “You’re going to forget about me and about your quarry.”

“I’m going to forget about you and my quarry.”

“And you’re going to hand over the puck and the tracking fob.”

“And I’m going to hand over the puck and the tracking fob.”

The Trandoshan stepped toward you, and you braced yourself, but he dropped the requested items into your hands without a glance at you. He dragged his feet through the sand and into the crowded street, where you knew his former victim would not be.

You smiled. _Good_.

Your hand tipped over, and the devices fell and hit the duracrete ground with a satisfying _smack_. You took a moment to relish the sound. Then, with a triumphant smirk, you lifted your boot above the spoils before bringing your heel down hard, first shattering the tracking fob and then repeating the gesture for the puck. You gathered the shattered evidence into your hands before emptying them inside your pack and fastening your slingshot back on your belt.

As you stood, you once again became aware of the noise level in the alley. The sounds of the busy marketplace were muffled, like you had your ear up to a wall, listening to a conversation occurring on the other side. The volume comforted you. It wasn’t a piercing silence, and it wasn’t a splitting scream. It was in the middle of two terrifying extremes.

A deep voice behind you broke through the calm. “How long have you been able to do that?”

The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly electrified, and you whipped around, your slingshot armed and ready, before coming face-to-face with a human male. Half of his long, dark grey hair was pulled back from his face, and he looked at you—really looked at you—not with malice, not with distrust, but with curiosity. His apparel told one story (that he was a farmer), but his demeanor told another. Farmers around here were always hurried, always worried, but this man…he exuded peace. It filled the alley and prodded at your soul.

“Who are you?” you asked him, raising your slingshot slightly, in warning.

He glanced at it with unconcern before looking back at you. “My name is Qui-Gon Jinn. What is your name?” he said, in a voice that, though gruff, had an unnamable quality that made you certain that even his yell would seem no more than a whisper.

You narrowed your eyes, shifted your feet, and answered, “That’s none of your business.” It was astonishing how bitter your words sounded, compared to the serenity of his. “What do you want?”

Qui-Gon shrugged. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Confused, your hands faltered, allowing the slingshot to drop minutely, but that slight movement, that tiny hole in your wall, set your entire being on high alert, and you raised your weapon higher, even pulling back on the pocket.

This time, his eyes never left yours. Instead, he asked, “How long have you been able to influence others with your mind?”

You scoffed, and he remained silent, watching you. Like a dripping faucet, the full weight and reality of his question slowly registered in your mind, as well as the realization that you’d never asked it of yourself. And in that moment, you didn’t know why. Yet here was this stranger, unlike anyone you’d ever come across, asking you this question, and you suddenly had the urge to run. It was possible; the path to the other end of the alley was clear. You could lose him—and yourself—in the crowd.

His eyes, though, faithfully trained on you but neither demanding nor harsh, held you fast.

Almost without noticing, you spoke, “I don’t know when it first started. It doesn’t work every time.”

Qui-Gon nodded; you felt his belief as it flowed through him. “You were fortunate, then, that this time it did.”

“Yes” was the only word your mouth could form as you furrowed your brows.

After another quiet moment, he spoke up again. “Why did you help the woman?”

The words immediately escaped your brain and left your mouth. “He was being cruel,” you replied, heat rushing to your cheeks as the memory inserted itself into the present moment. You felt exposed, your inner world on display—but the words did not stop. “She…she was begging for mercy, and he was enjoying it.”

“Hm.” He nodded. “And yet you did not kill him.” His voice wasn’t approving, wasn’t condemning, wasn’t even neutral; it was…filled with absence, a nothingness. He was gauging you.

Again, you answered with honesty. “No, of course, I didn’t kill him.”

Qui-Gon smiled then, and it somehow put you simultaneously at ease and on edge. He appeared pleased with you, but he also looked on the verge of something, like he’d made a decision.

“Where are your parents?” he asked.

For the first time, you looked away from him, at a spot just to the right of his head. The scene, already a blur of tan, became hazy as you said nothing.

Qui-Gon nodded in understanding. “Do you know what the Force is?”

Your wide eyes once again met his calm ones, and your breathing picked up. Yes, of course, you did. Stories of the saber-wielding Jedi and their heroic deeds had lived inside your childhood, in the sound of your parents’ voices. The Jedi were protectors, peacekeepers…Wait, was he…?

“Are you a Jedi?” you asked.

Qui-Gon’s lips quirked upward as he chuckled. “Yes, I am.”

Your heartbeat, after going unnoticed for the past few minutes, announced itself with fervor; you felt as if you’d touched a live wire. Something in those simple words set you on fire and left you speechless.

He continued, in his same, calm tone, “The Force is strong with you, young one. That’s why you could placate the bounty hunter.” He paused for one moment. “You could be a Jedi too. You could hone your skills and help more people.”

“No,” you said, finally having found your voice. “I’m fine on my own.”

“I can see that. I can also feel your fear, and your pain.” You cringed as if he had slapped you, but he continued. “As Jedi, we learn how to let go of all we fear to lose…I sense that this is already your goal, but I also sense your deep compassion, whether or not you admit it to yourself.

“I will leave now and give you time to think. But think quickly. In one hour, I will be leaving the city from the main exit on the north side. If you choose, I will take you to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, where you will be trained in the Jedi arts.” He tilted his head slightly, then tapped the chrono on his wrist. “One hour.”

Then, with confidence and purpose, Qui-Gon Jinn turned around and disappeared into the throng.

And, once again, you were alone, but it felt strange somehow. Unfamiliar, even though you’d been alone since you were eight years old. At that moment, you were fifteen, and one interaction was all it took to thrust you back to the place you had been running from all that time: reliance on anyone, or anything, but yourself.

However, in that moment, the idea of staying felt like death—a long, slow, painful death, yes, but a death that was familiar to you. You knew what each day would bring. No surprises, nothing to let you down, but if you went to Coruscant, if you became a Jedi, you would have something to lose. More than something; you’d have an actual _life_ to lose.

Your choices were clear: (1) a mere existence or (2) the equal probability of a life of purpose and a death of dreams.

As you made your decision, you groaned, feeling the urge to scream but stifling it. Every fiber of your being trembled; your body knew what you were feeling, but you did not. It also knew what it was doing, for your legs propelled you out of the alley and into the street, where you broke out into a run, giving everything that you had to preventing indecision’s inevitable assault.

The twin suns were directly above you, and the air that whipped against your cheek did nothing to cool you down. You’d heard people mentioning a fever dream; you hoped this wasn’t it.

In a matter of minutes, you arrived at the north exit and stood in a shaded area, against a wall—and you waited, trying to calm your breathing.

Half an hour went by before you saw him, his head towering over those around him. And to your surprise, your blood turned to ice, and you were frozen, caught between those two choices, those two fears.

Qui-Gon walked closer and closer, until he was sure to be able to hear you if you made any noise, or to see you if moved even an inch. But you were stuck in emotional mud, and so was time, for everything suddenly slowed down, like you were in a holovid, flashing back to the moment your life changed.

This _was_ the moment your life could change.

But Qui-Gon’s eyes never strayed from the road ahead, not even when he finally passed you by, along with any hope you had of…of what? Of a pipe dream, of—

About three meters from you, he turned around, his eyes holding neither surprise nor disappointment as he beckoned you, “Come along, young one.”

With wide eyes and trembling hands, your back left the wall, and your feet caught up to him, to that same peaceful aura from before.

Qui-Gon peered down at you with a small smile before asking, “Now, what is your name?”

For a moment, you held your breath. Then, you spoke—for the first time in many years—your name. It felt on your tongue like what you thought trying a new food might feel like.

“Well,” Qui-Gon said, “[Y/F/N Y/L/N], meet Anakin Skywalker.”

And from his other side, a boy no older than ten, with sand-colored hair, craned his neck around Qui-Gon’s figure to look at you with open-mouthed wonder and excitement.

“Are you going to be a Jedi too?”

You drew in a breath to speak, but it caught in your throat. A small smile was all you could offer him, and Qui-Gon’s subsequent interjection flooded you with relief.

“All right, young ones. We must get to the ship quickly. We have a long journey to Coruscant.”

And with a nod at you, Qui-Gon faced forward once again. After a moment, you did too, seeing all around you familiar sights but for the first time walking into the unknown.


	2. Sharp Ledges and Soft Edges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Y/N] journeys to Coruscant.
> 
> Warnings: angst, canon-typical violence (not graphic)

**32 BBY**

Air struggled to enter your lungs as you ran across the hot sand, the hum of a speeder growing steadily closer and a small hand trembling in your own. You weren’t sure when it got there, but you dared not tear your eyes away from where you were going. Instead, you gripped it with intensity and dragged along the younger boy it belonged to.

Earlier that day, you’d run toward freedom. In that moment, though, you were running for your life. And even in the midst of that existential desperation, the irony was not lost on you. You’d compared staying in Mos Espa to death—now, outside of its walls, you were closer to a real, physical death than you’d ever been.

Anakin cried, “Qui-Gon, sir! Wait, I’m tired!”

Your eyes were fixed on Qui-Gon’s tall frame as he ran ahead of you, toward the blindingly silver ship that was so close. Surely, in only a few seconds you’d be safe inside its—

You barely had time to register Qui-Gon’s turning around before he yelled, “Anakin! [Y/N]! Drop!” And your body immediately obeyed as a great _HUM_ passed above you, whipping the air around you and filling your mouth with sand.

Anakin coughed beside you, and you sprang into action, lifting him up by his pack before reaching again for his hand.

Then, you saw your attacker, with his dark robes and his hood framing his fire-red face and his protruding horns. Next, the scene became a blur, and all you could see was that he and Qui-Gon were battling; the green and red lightsabers danced in lightning-like patterns around them.

What you could feel, though, was a different story. Qui-Gon’s serenity was unmistakable as it stood off with the villain’s angry passion.

You willed your feet not to sink in the sand as you ran, hearing Qui-Gon call out, “Go! Tell them to take off!”

Finally, you managed to cough, your body desperate for oxygen. Your feet stumbled slightly as they hit the hardness of the black entrance ramp. At the top, a lift laid before you, and you released Anakin’s hand.

Outside, Qui-Gon was in a vicious fight; the intention of his opponent was clear: to kill. There was no way you’d let that happen.

“Anakin,” you said, eyes still glued to the scene, “Go tell them to take off.”

The sound of footsteps and the _whoosh_ of the lift doors told you that he’d obeyed. Your fingers grazed your belt, where your slingshot laid, ready. As you walked down the ramp, confidence and calm flooding your body, you released your weapon from the belt, along with a stone—your last.

Halfway down, you stopped, raised your arm, and pulled on the pocket, feeling with satisfaction the stretch of the material.

And you waited, poised and ready to strike at the right moment. The battle still raged on in a blur, and the ship suddenly lifted off and drifted closer to the duel, but you knew that the stone would find its target. You never missed.

As you fixed your eyes on the red-and-green haze, their bodies moving at high speeds, you, in contrast, were filled with a stillness. You were aware of your heart beating, but it felt less than a whisper in your chest, and time moved in both fast forward and slow motion, so that you took in in nothing and everything all at once.

Your fingers suddenly relaxed on the pocket, forcing a gasp of surprise and letting the rock fly. The fray immediately concealed its trajectory for one agonizing moment, until a frenzied voice cried, “Huuuaaaaghghhhh!!!!”

It was then that you caught a full glimpse of the man—or was it a creature? Its eyes locked onto your own and behind them slithered its every evil feeling and intention. This time, it reverberated in your mind: _kill_.

Then, Qui-Gon was in front of you, his hands on your shoulders, guiding you into the ship’s interior, where he immediately collapsed. His breathing was the only sound as he stared at the closing hatch while you stared at him.

It hit you, then, what you’d done. That was no bounty hunter; whatever it was, it had faced off with a Jedi—and had left said Jedi panting after a narrow escape.

Qui-Gon looked at you, and your next thought was that you may have done the wrong thing. His face held that same stoicism from when he commented on your sparing the Trandoshan’s life. If he was once again gauging you, you had no time to discern it, for a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Nice shot.”

For a moment, neither your mind nor your body knew how to react to his praise. It was a sensation you’d stowed away, and it took a moment to clear off the dust. However, when you did, you were embarrassed to feel the heat in your cheeks and the slight stinging in your eyes.

The look in his own didn’t change while he gazed at you, but he looked away as the lift opened, revealing Anakin and another you’d never seen before.

The human male, younger than Qui-Gon but older than you, immediately found your eye, and your blush leapt to your ears. His confusion permeated the air, and his long brown robe flurried around him as he walked with Anakin toward Qui-Gon, where they knelt.

Suddenly, you felt like an outsider. You pressed your back against the wall, irrationally willing yourself to disappear into it.

“Are you okay?” Anakin asked Qui-Gon.

“I think so,” Qui-Gon said with a nod as he leaned back on his arms, meeting your eyes for a moment with a knowing look.

“What was it?” the stranger questioned, leaning forward.

You focused intently, wondering the same.

“I’m not sure, but it was well-trained in the Jedi arts.” Qui-Gon paused. “My guess is it was after the queen.”

 _The queen?_ you thought. First, you found out you could use the Force, then you were almost murdered, and now you were on a ship with a queen? Each additional detail about your new life struggled to make its home in your mind, but you couldn’t help wanting to know more.

Anakin appeared more versed than you, for his response was immediate. “What are we going to do about it?” His voice was so small, and so was he; it stood in stark contrast to his eagerness to jump into action.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath and with finality said, “We shall be patient.” Then, “Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The name piqued your interest, and although the back of his head was all you could see in that moment, something about the man piqued your interest as well.

The two new acquaintances shook hands. The younger of the two, in a voice that somehow sounded older than before, said, “Hi! You’re a Jedi too? Pleased to meet you.”

As you tried to absorb this new information, Qui-Gon chuckled, the sound filling the room with the peace that clung to him, wouldn’t leave him alone, it seemed. Then, he looked at you, and the other two pairs of eyes followed.

“[Y/F/N Y/L/N],” he said, pausing as Obi-Wan stood to face you, “meet Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

His brows were furrowed as he held out his hand. You reached out with your own and shook it slowly, hesitantly, barely registering the feel of his hand in yours from focusing on not making a fool of yourself, and hoping that he wouldn’t ask the question so clear in his mind: Why were you there?

While puzzled, Obi-Wan’s gaze was not unkind, and as he turned back to Qui-Gon with the same expression, you had a feeling that this was not a new situation for them. Qui-Gon’s smile and lingering chuckle as he met Obi-Wan’s eyes confirmed your theory.

Qui-Gon looked between you and the younger man, and there was something in his glance that spoke of more than what was on the surface.

He planted his feet on the floor, lifted his body, and moved to stand next to you, where he placed one hand on your shoulder. To your surprise, you didn’t flinch; it wasn’t an unwelcome touch. In fact, it felt as if he were transferring directly into your bloodstream some of that peace that lingered around him. It was warm—but not hot and dry like Tatooine—and it put you at ease without numbing your senses. Were all Jedi like this?

You looked up at him, and he was looking at the one called Obi-Wan, who stood facing you like Qui-Gon had earlier, with his hands folded in front of him.

“[Y/N] here,” Qui-Gon told him, a lace of humor in his unique voice (which you were growing more used to every moment), “rescued a woman—whom she didn’t know—from a bounty hunter, using a slingshot and a Jedi mind trick.”

Anakin’s mouth formed a perfect circle, while Obi-Wan simply raised his eyebrows and brought his hand to his chin. The dichotomy of their reactions might have urged the release of laughter had it not been for the feeling of complete and utter exposure coursing through your veins like ice, fighting against the warmth of Qui-Gon’s touch.

However, when Obi-Wan spoke, the ice shattered. “Impressive,” he said, finding your eyes once again. “I remember struggling with that particular skill. Didn’t I, Master?” His eyes crinkled with humor, in a way that made you sure it was an expression he often wore, like a favorite pair of boots or a beloved robe.

Yes, there was certainly something about him, for beneath the surface, you felt the purpose of his words. He seemed to know what you needed to hear to be comfortable, to be more at ease.

Both of them did, for Qui-Gon’s response further calmed you.

“It is a skill we all must falter through, yes.”

The two men before you, you realized, were both the opposite and the same. Where Qui-Gon was soft edges and occasional hard points (a sand dune, hiding larger rocks deep beneath the surface), Obi-Wan’s aura felt rigid but interspersed with softness (like the sand-buried, duracrete ground of Mos Espa: still hard, but with a slight cushion if one were to fall).

“Now,” Qui-Gon spoke up, releasing your shoulder and gazing between you and Anakin, who perked up. “I must speak with Obi-Wan.” The younger man at once nodded, full of duty. “First, I’ll take you where you may rest during the journey.”

The walk was short, and soon after, you and Anakin were sitting in a cushioned seat at a round table.

It was quiet for a long while, but there certainly was not a lack of sounds—not really—for the ship’s machinery hummed all around you as you swam in the depths of your mind. With each passing moment, you drifted farther out, in a sea of the million questions you longed to ask.

However, as you drew more inward, Anakin’s silent musings extended outward until they were impossible to ignore. The once-excited boy slumped in his seat, his eyes chasing the ground beneath him. He was sad, you realized. It was a hollow kind of sad, and one you knew all too well, having spent the past seven years in a similar state.

It was loss; he was leaving someone behind.

All at once, you understood and couldn’t comprehend that decision. Either way, pity lifted you from your reverie, from your silence. “Are you okay?”

Anakin looked at you, and his answer was obvious. No, he was not.

His mouth opened to answer you, but at that moment, a girl about your age entered the room, and all his attention was immediately given to her, his eyes full of recognition and admiration. Who was she? Was this the Queen Qui-Gon had spoken of?

Her orange gown—which reminded you of the suns from the planet you’d just left—shimmered even in the dim light as she crossed to a panel and opened a hologram. A man, dressed also in regal apparel, spoke with urgency and fear. “The death toll is catastrophic. We must bow to their wishes. You must contact me.” The pixelated figure faded away, and the girl stood still, her thoughts as deep as an ocean.

Then, she turned and with a look of concern for the small boy, asked, “Are you all right?”

Anakin’s thumbs twiddled against his tucked knees. “It’s very cold.”

A blanket was at once retrieved, and as she brought it to him you felt like more than an outsider; you felt like an intruder.

As she spread the fabric over his knees, smoothing it out just so with innocent care, she finally looked at you. Her smile betrayed your own assessment of the situation, for she didn’t look at you like you were an intruder, nor did she look at you with curiosity as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had. No, while the message had affected her, her gaze remained all warmth.

Her voice and smile were warm as well. “Hi. I’m Padmé.”

You found yourself matching her expression but were more surprised as your name tumbled from your lips for the second time that day. “Hi. I’m [Y/N].”

Padmé’s smile grew when she heard it. “I guess you’re from Tatooine like Ani.” When you nodded, she looked down at the blanket and then back at you before saying, “You come from a warm planet. A little too warm for my taste.” Then, to Anakin, she said, “Space is cold.”

“You seem sad,” he said.

For a moment, she looked down. When she raised her eyes back up, she said, “The Queen is worried. Her people are suffering, dying. She must convince the Senate to intervene, or…I’m not sure what’ll happen.”

 _The Queen is worried…I’m not sure what’ll happen._ The words echoed in your mind, and just like you so clearly saw the pristine white of the starship’s interior, you saw the hidden meaning in her words. Your eyebrows raised, but Anakin’s expression didn’t change.

Instead, he reached underneath the blanket and pulled out a trinket. “I made this for you.” Padmé turned it over in her hands. “So you’d remember me. I carved out of a japor snippet. It’ll bring you good fortune.”

“It’s beautiful. But I don’t need this to remember you by.” The two shared a smile. “Many things will change when we reach the capital, Ani, but my caring for you will remain.”

“I care for you too,” Anakin said in that same small voice, “only I—”

Padmé placed a hand on his shoulder, and you remembered how Qui-Gon’s had felt on your own earlier that day. “Miss your mother.”

A small gasp of air entered your body, almost inaudible and both cold as ice and hot as the desert sand. There it was: his loss. It shone bright around him; it was plain on his face, in his heart. You could practically see his mother’s face and hear her words where they laid behind his eyes—a magnifying glass for your own pain, which always lurked just underneath the surface and usually came alive in moments of silence.

Desperately, inwardly, you raged against it as it threatened to split you in two. Who would you be then? No, it was better to shove it down and—

“Are you all right?” Padmé repeated the question she’d asked Anakin only a few moments before. In her eyes was the same kind look she’d given him. It made you feel out of control, lost in a sandstorm.

But you’d managed all these years, so you could manage then. Your smile was tight, rigid, and sparing as you told her, “I’m fine.”

Yes, you were fine. And for the rest of the journey, you repeated it in your head— _I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine—_ at first believing it, until the words lost all meaning, and you wondered if you’d ever known what it meant in the first place.


	3. Blank Canvas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The High Council decides the fate of Anakin and [Y/N].

**32 BBY**

The Council Chambers were colder than the ship had been. As you stood in the center, surrounded by Jedi Masters on all sides and comforted by the gentle touch of Qui-Gon’s hand upon your right shoulder, you shivered. Since your test, the sky had darkened from brilliant shades of purple, orange, and yellow to a deep blue. The ambience in the room, which soared high above the rest of the city, had also dimmed, in contrast to the surface of the planet, which was illuminated as far as the horizon.

Each light, you knew, represented life being lived. So many lights, so many people. Mos Espa has been crowded, yes, but beyond that, Tatooine was plain, sparse. As you contemplated the disparity between the two planets, you wondered if you’d ever stop comparing everything to Tatooine. Would you even get the chance?

A few paces to your right and behind you stood Obi-Wan, his focus evident in his stillness. Anakin was on your left, and while he shared Obi-Wan’s focus, his heart was not as still. You could barely feel your own beating in your chest.

A Cerean Master to the left spoke first. “The Force is strong with them.”

With conviction lining his every word, making his question sound more like a declaration, Qui-Gon asked, “So they are to be trained?”

All four of you—you, Anakin, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan alike—held your breath. It felt like your heart had dropped out of your chest altogether, and there seemed to be nothing at all except the sounds of the voices that would determine your destiny.

Master Windu, with one arm draped across the back of his chair and the other on the arm rest, kept his gaze cool—almost cooler than the air—and neutral as he replied, “Anakin will not be trained,” before shifting his gaze to Master Yoda, who sat to his right.

“No?” Qui-Gon said as his hand left your shoulder and went to his hips. There it was—the sharp rocks hidden underneath the sand dunes.

Suddenly, the image of the creature from before invaded your mind. Rather than hardness, his eyes had been engulfed in flames. You closed your own for a moment, willing the memory away.

“He is too old,” Windu stated, earning a furrow of your brows.

Qui-Gon’s response was immediate and insistent. “He _is_ the Chosen One. You must see it.”

Without looking, you felt Obi-Wan shift beside you, as his body let out a sigh that had nothing to do with breathing. Everything in him shifted toward his master.

“Mmm,” grunted Master Yoda as his eyes slowly opened. “Clouded, this boy’s future is. Fears the loss of his mother, he does.”

In that instant, you knew what would happen next, even before Qui-Gon stepped directly behind Anakin and placed both hands on his shoulders. You also felt Obi-Wan tense behind you, his muscles coiling, readying himself.

“I will train him, then,” Qui-Gon said.

In the pause that followed, the tension in Obi-Wan snapped, while the air around you grew eerily still with everyone’s bated breath. It felt too much to take in all at once, especially when Qui-Gon continued with “I take Anakin as my Padawan learner.”

The furrow in your brows deepened. Wasn’t Obi-Wan his Padawan? Would Qui-Gon take you as his Padawan as well?

Yoda’s answer was quick and full of authority. “An apprentice you have, Qui-Gon. Impossible to take on a second.”

“The Code forbids it,” added Master Windu, still in his reclined position.

Obi-Wan’s desperation, like the lighting of a match, mirrored yours, both of you wondering where your place in this would be, both unsure of your future—you for having gained Qui-Gon as a teacher and him for having suddenly lost him. You still may lose him—all of this—yet.

As soon as Qui-Gon said, “Obi-Wan is ready,” the younger man stepped forward in a rush, brushing your shoulder with his own.

“I am ready to face the Trials,” Obi-Wan confirmed.

“Our own counsel we will keep on who is ready,” Yoda said as your impatience grew like a wave at high tide.

But Qui-Gon continued to push, and as he did the air to your right became stiff with Obi-Wan’s frustration. “He is headstrong, and he has much to learn of the Living Force, but he is capable. There is little more he can learn from me.”

The stiffness remained, almost as if a stone wall stood between you and Obi-Wan. For a moment, it distracted you as you turned away from it and toward Anakin, who, in the short silence after Qui-Gon’s words, took a deep breath. It reminded you to do the same.

“Young Skywalker’s fate,” Yoda said, “will be decided later.” His eyes turned to you and in them laid humor that had not been present before. “Young [Y/L/N], I take you as my Padawan learner.”

Your heart came alive, but time slowed down. Emotions exploded—slow-motion bombs whose shrapnel thickened the air and impaled you. You felt every bit of them as if they were your own, but none were as tangible as the confusion of your three companions, which knocked on the walls of your chest.

Master Yoda’s aura, however, was clear, and his eyes bore conviction, much like Qui-Gon’s had as he defended Anakin.

 _Anakin_. They said he was too old, but—

“I don’t understand,” you blurted, to the apparent shock of your companions, the oxygen molecules around you seeming to split in two with it.

Master Yoda was ready. “Let go of your loss, you have.” He closed his eyes and lifted his chin, somehow fading into a deepness. “Yes, many years ago, it was.” He opened them and rose back to the surface. “Wear it, you do, but control you, it does not. Attachments, you do not have.”

Of all the exposure you’d experienced that day, that was the worst. You felt gutted, like your insides were laid out for everyone to see, to scrutinize, to _use_. Every eye was fixed on you, and you took a deep breath to convince yourself that you weren’t suffocating under the weight.

Still, your thoughts drifted to Anakin—of his sadness in the silence of the starship, of his trembling hand in your own.

“Master Yoda,” you said, addressing him by his name for the first time, “I…” you began but realized that you couldn’t say the words that haunted your dreams. After another breath, you continued. “That happened when I was not much younger than Anakin.” You looked down at the boy, where he was looking back at you, his face revealing the childlike quality of simple listening. You once again met Master Yoda’s eyes. “You say I’ve let go. Why can’t he learn to let go too?”

Slowly, a smile dawned on Yoda’s face. “Serve you, your wisdom will, young one. But time, we do not have.”

And in a way that made your head spin, Windu immediately leaned forward and picked up the Grand Master’s thought. “The senate is voting for a new Supreme Chancellor, and Queen Amidala is returning home, which will put pressure on the Federation and could widen the confrontation.”

“And draw out the Queen’s attacker,” said the Cerean master.

The red-faced man. His yellow eyes flashed behind your own, and they bored into yours once again. _Kill_.

“Go with the Queen to Naboo and discover the identity of this dark warrior,” Windu said.

Behind you, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon stood at attention as green-and-red lights danced in your mind.

With urgency, Windu continued, “This is the clue we need to unravel the mystery of the Sith.”

Beside you, Obi-Wan and Anakin bowed, but Qui-Gon asked, “And what is to become of [Y/N]?”

You looked at Master Yoda, who held one hand on his chin before pointing a curled finger at you. “Go with you to Naboo, young [Y/L/N] will.”

Qui-Gon nodded, and you stared at Master Yoda for a moment, feeling as if you were being pulled in a million directions by an invisible string in your gut. Then, you turned and left, almost without realizing the tread of your feet on the floor.

The four of you entered the lift. While none of you said a word, the atmosphere was thick as future conversations played out in each individual’s head. Between master and apprentice, it was the densest. Molecules vibrated, and it wouldn’t be long until they collided.

You stared at the silver starship, which was aglow with the lights of the city. The sky above was now black, but a billboard behind you flashed red and yellow, and you watched as the colors danced on the metal. Below it, you saw yourself, a blurry caricature but all you and still dressed in clothes meant for repelling heat.

However, the chill of the air as it nipped at your neck only felt refreshing, in this small moment by yourself. You breathed it in, relishing how it swirled in your lungs as your thoughts drew inward. The lights of the city faded as scenes from the Chambers flickered like a flame in your mind, but instead of bringing warmth, they filled you with emotion.

With the words, _Let go of your past, you have_ , came an emptiness and quiet desperation. A spark shot through your spine every time you thought of the phrase, _He_ is _the Chosen One._ But the one that most preoccupied you was _I take Anakin as my Padawan learner_. In that, there was a heaviness, and it floated, stagnant in the air, like right before a sandstorm.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan descended the ramp, the tension becoming more concentrated as they passed by you. They walked toward the edge of the landing platform, arguing in hushed tones. Obi-Wan, smaller in stature than his master, seemed to match his height, in that moment.

You wondered if you’d somehow changed shape like that when you were fighting a bounty hunter, when you were standing on the edge of a ramp, floating above the desert as a deadly battle waged below you. Almost unaware of it, you stepped up to the exact place you’d stood earlier that day and imagined that you could see the mix of green and red, the two enemies dancing—one to stay alive, one to kill the other.

The weight of your slingshot on your belt called out to you, and you reached for it in a fluid, snapping motion, raising your arms, pulling on the pocket, and then simply remaining in the moment, waiting for nothing. Everything around you seemed to stop.

“Don’t shoot,” said a voice from the bottom of the ramp.

The lowered slingshot revealed Obi-Wan’s mischievous smirk. You stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. “It’s empty,” you chose, embarrassed to feel your cheeks redden. “I just…”

He smiled. “You were just practicing?”

The fire on your cheeks traveled down and nested within your chest. You furrowed your brows and spoke immediately. “I don’t need to practice.”

The humor on Obi-Wan’s features didn’t vanish, but it was replaced with something unflinching. “Yes, Qui-Gon told me about the attacker.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “What you did was dangerous. He’s most likely a Sith Lord. Do you know what that means?”

“I know that I hit him with a rock from the ramp of a moving starship,” you said, surprising even yourself at this defiance. It felt right, though, like you belonged there, defending your skill.

A small, amused smile painted Obi-Wan’s face as he walked up the ramp and stood beside you. “That you did, yes. But,” he continued with a more serious expression, “on Naboo, let Qui-Gon and I handle it.” In the next moment, the smile returned. “Master Yoda would not be pleased if his Padawan were injured.”

He continued to walk up the ramp, and you followed, his remark stirring loose a question. “Why did he send me, then?”

Obi-Wan looked back for a moment but continued walking. His voice was quiet as he said, “I don’t know,” like he was holding something back. It sat just out of reach.

“Do you…know Master Yoda well?”

His pace slowed, and you walked beside him.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Every Jedi in the Temple knows Yoda. He’s the wisest of us all and is very powerful.” He paused to look at you. “You’re lucky to have him as a Master.”

Once the words left his mouth, that same tension from before filled the air around him, and you knew that he was thinking of his own master—and how he may not be his master for much longer. Obi-Wan stopped in front of the round table and a moment went by. Self-assurance unexplainably flooded you.

“What did Master Yoda mean by…attachments?” You spoke the last word in a more hushed tone than the others, for it seemed filled with mystery, with things unspoken.

“It’s the Jedi Code. Jedi are peacekeepers, guardians of justice. Attachments prevent us from seeing situations objectively.”

Qui-Gon’s gruff voice echoed in your mind. _But I also sense your deep compassion, whether or not you admit it to yourself._

“What about compassion?” you asked Obi-Wan, who smiled.

“A Jedi must have compassion, but our purpose is to serve everyone. We can’t do that if we’re more committed to one person over another.” His eyes glazed over, then. He was far away. But suddenly he looked at you, his eyes swimming with humor and his mouth turned up in a soft smile. “I’ll let Master Yoda give you that lecture,” he said. “He does it better than anyone.”

Qui-Gon and Anakin returned, then, and the former bid you to take a seat. Even as the starship lifted from the ground and began hurtling through hyperspace with barely a lurch, you felt more at peace. Your heart held its position in your chest, but it wasn’t raging. It just…was.

Later, in a small room, you laid down your head to sleep, your thoughts full of your conversation with Obi-Wan. Something about his challenges had knocked something loose within you and had allowed confidence to swirl through your veins, like a paintbrush on a blank canvas. And everywhere it touched, it captured your likeness. It felt like being you.

Your last thought as you fell asleep was that you never knew that other people could help you be yourself.

_There must have been millions of desert planets in the galaxy, but as soon as you looked around, you instinctively knew where you were: Tatooine. It wasn’t the twin suns pummeling your face with heat, and it wasn’t the wind-shaped dunes that rose up around you. No, it was an intuition, a familiarity beyond appearances; the planet seemed to have a spirit._

_You waited, expecting the panic to come in the shaking of your hands and the wild beating of your heart. You thought you’d left this place. The panic, however, didn’t come._

_You looked around, falling back into the habit of noticing everything but remaining invisible. But this was not Mos Espa, with its crowds shouting in Huttese, its shopkeepers keeping a wary eye out, and its sand-covered, duracrete streets. You shifted your feet, and the sand beneath you displaced so that you sank, but underneath it laid more sand, both soft and rough._

_Suddenly, a new sensation at your left hand announced itself with a spike of heat—pleasant, even under the suns—that ran up to your elbow. An object had wrapped itself around your hand, and it was firmer than the shifting sands but more pliable than duracrete. You inspected it with a gentle squeeze, and it returned the pressure, with an added stroke to your knuckle. It was a hand, you realized with surprise, willing yourself to look at its owner but finding your effort to be in vain._

_It all felt…peaceful, plain, even true. Your heart kept its same pace—thump, thump, thump—in your chest. You laid all your focus on it as you closed your eyes, letting the sensation fill you._

“[Y/N], wake up,” said a soft voice by your side.

Your eyes shot open and immediately closed when met with the brilliant white of the ship’s interior. The person beside you waited as you rubbed the sleep out of them.

You opened your eyes slowly, still squinting, and found Anakin’s. “What’s going on?” you asked.

“We’re almost there,” he said, his excitement filling the room. “Master Qui-Gon says we have to be ready to leave as soon as we land.”

“Okay.”

As you swung your legs over the side of the bed, Anakin’s unmoving form caught your attention. You’d expected him to leave, but he was staring at you, his mind buzzing. Then, his eyes drifted to the floor, where your belt and slingshot laid. You picked them up, first fastening your belt and then the slingshot. The familiar weight sent a thrill of anticipation through you.

“Did you really defeat a bounty hunter?” Anakin asked.

As you slipped on your shoes, you answered him. “Yes.”

His brows had been furrowed, but they moved higher on his face as his eyes widened. “Qui-Gon told me that I couldn’t have a weapon.”

You frowned, remembering that you’d used the last of your stones. The pouch on your belt was empty. “Looks like I don’t either. I’m out of stones.”

Anakin grinned, then, like he had a secret. “I heard we’re going to be landing in a forest. Can I help you gather some?”

Obi-Wan’s voice played in your mind. _Let Qui-Gon and I handle it_. You smiled at the younger boy as you got up to leave. “Yes, you can.”


	4. Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Y/N] does whatever she can to help win the Battle of Naboo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: heavy-ish angst, hospitalization, canon-typical violence (not graphic), major character death (canonical and not graphic!)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @emilykenobi to get writing updates! You can also fill out a form to be added to my taglist!
> 
> Thanks, everyone, for reading!!!! I'm having a blast writing this fic!

**32 BBY**

The sharp sound of blaster fire was heavy in the air as you unceremoniously ushered Anakin in between yellow fighters. Sparks flew as fiery bolts slammed into the metal hulls, but Nabooan pilots still raced to occupy them and lift them through the air—the first step on their mission to destroy the Trade Federation’s control ship. 

Head down, you still kept a close eye on the battle. The droids, monotone even in the heat of the fight, vastly outnumbered the Jedi and the Queen’s Royal Guard— _Padmé’s_ royal guard. Her face was as stoic, as determined, and as decisive as the Jedi she fought beside, and her arm held high a blaster. The Jedi, too, had brandished their weapons and were swiftly angling them through the air, deflecting the enemy’s fire. Since you landed on Coruscant, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had moved on from their pain to a mutual respect, and they fought together in an intuitive, almost practiced manner. In the swamp, the younger Jedi and you had shared a knowing look—and an effort to stifle laughter at Anakin’s expense—when Padmé revealed her identity. However, the battle had wiped all traces of joviality from his face.

As you watched them engage the battle droids, your slingshot became heavy on your hip, and your fingers itched to hold it, but as much as you longed to join the battle, there was a better reason to remain in the shadows.

Anakin. His eyes were wide as he surveyed the chaos, though not in fear. Intrigue and determination lined his expression.

Just a few minutes ago, Qui-Gon had knelt in front of the boy and commanded, “Once we get inside, you’ll find a safe place to hide and stay there.”

“Sure,” the small boy had said, with slight hesitation.

Qui-Gon had raised one finger. “Stay there.”

Anakin had nodded, and Qui-Gon had looked at you. Words had been unnecessary; you’d already decided what part you would play that day. No one had offered you one of the many blasters that had been passed around before the battle, but you still had your slingshot. And, thanks to the help of Anakin, you had stones to sling. 

_I’ll do my best to protect him_ , you’d thought, determination warming you. The older man had nodded at you, given a small smile, and then guided you through the battle as far as he could—but you and Anakin were now on your own.

One by one the droids fell, each with a _zing_ as blaster fire met metal. More and more fighters zipped out of the hangar. Your eyes were locked onto their rising forms, but Anakin boarded a stationary one, followed by Artoo. 

“What are you doing?” you yelled.

“I’m hiding, like Qui-Gon told me to!”

You let out a breath, and suddenly the loud blasts ceased, leaving a ringing in your ears. Padmé, surrounded by her guards and flanked by Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, said with authority, “My guess is the viceroy’s in the throne room.”

Captain Panaka gestured with his weapon toward the large, black blast doors at the back of the hangar, taking large strides as the others—Queen, guards, and handmaidens alike—hurried along with him. “Red group! Blue group! Everybody, this way!”

The two Jedi were at the back of the company, and as they passed Anakin rose, shouting, “Hey! Wait for me!”

Qui-Gon’s normally peaceful tone was mixed with a warning. “Anakin, stay where you are. You’ll be safe there.”

“But I—”

Qui-Gon pointed at the sandy-haired boy, “Stay in that cockpit.” His words seemed to travel and physically land on Anakin, who sat down. Qui-Gon cast you a meaningful glance that filled you with responsibility but also made you feel inadequate, standing next to the starship while Anakin hid and the rest marched with purpose. Obi-Wan, however, regarded you much like Qui-Gon had Anakin; his brows were raised, mouth set in a tight line.

_Let Qui-Gon and I handle it_. You liked the younger Jedi, but you fought against the urge to roll your eyes.

The throng of Nabooans and Jedi alike advanced toward the black doors. Their plan was moving forward, but a sudden, prickly stillness steeled your spine before the doors opened, revealing a terrifying sight. At once, the party stopped, and their stunned silence ascended like fireworks, which electrified the hangar and crashed straight into you, meshing with your own eerie surprise as it crawled up your neck.

Last time you saw him, the suns had been beating down upon his red-and-black skin, but, in that moment, as he stood in the way of a Queen and her guard, a black hood covered his horned head. The Sith Lord’s eyes, more yellow than ever, and more scorching than the combined firepower of Tatooine’s binary suns, surveyed those in front of him with appetite and sick delight. Louder than ever, his intentions sounded, like a cannon in your mind: _Kill_.

Without hesitation, Qui-Gon stepped forward and said, “We’ll handle this.” He was urgent but calm, contemplative. 

The crowd parted, and the warrior removed his hood, somehow releasing darkness, like it had been caging the wild animal inside. In that moment, you feared for the lives of the two Jedi. There was no starship to escape on this time, no boarding ramp to conceal any of you from the end of his fiery blade.

As you registered your fear, and as bug-like battle droids rolled in from the other side of the hangar and began attacking Padmé and her companions, the Sith Lord flicked his eyes to you for one moment, grinning with anticipation. He could sense your fear, but there was fear neither in him, as he dramatically displayed his lightsaber, igniting the air around it with its red blaze, nor in his opponents, who shed their robes and ignited their own weapons, one blue and one green. The air sizzled, and goosebumps rose on your arms.

Anakin shouted something, but it was like he said nothing at all as Obi-Wan suddenly leapt into the air, performed a front flip, and landed on the Sith’s other side. The Jedi, now surrounding their opponent, immediately attacked, but the black-robed man parried without so much a swivel of his head. 

You were vaguely aware of the parallel battle on the hangar’s opposite end, but all sounds of it melted away, and you heard with clarity every slash, every jab, and every collision of the lightsabers. Your vision, too, was acute, as if your eyes were blades themselves, cutting into and examining every move they made.

The moment felt endless; you almost didn’t notice the yellow starship gliding through the air beside you, the small boy inside communicating with the blue astromech droid. “Anakin!” you yelled again, but your voice was drowned out by the firing of missiles, which took out the droids. A sigh of relief barely left your lungs before you sharply inhaled at the sight of the yellow craft exiting the hangar and lifting through the air. You watched it go, a low groan releasing itself from your mouth. 

Across the room, Padme yelled, “Let’s go!” to her companions, who rushed through a passageway. Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and the Sith were still tangled in an ever changing web of jabs, parries, and the scrapes of colliding lightsabers. You stood still, barely breathing, unaware of what you would do next until your feet carried you there.

You dashed across the hangar, brandishing your slingshot and fitting it with a stone. As you did, the blaster fire grew louder, and the scraping of blades grew softer. In the passageway, the royal guard was pinned behind thick pillars, in a standoff with droids. You stepped forward on the left side, not quite in the middle but far enough over to be able to jump out of harm’s way. Your heart beat slowed— _thump, thump, thump_ —as blaster fire whizzed past your face, and you realized that your body was reacting to it, like you were riding a wave. 

You _were_ the wave. Closer and closer you got, the crest of your wave growing higher and higher, drawing shouts of “What are you doing?” and “Find cover!” But the wave carried forward your body and sharpened your mind, and you raised your weapon, aimed it at the nearest droid, and fired. The resulting _clang_ resounded against the stinging sound of blasters.

But the droid, stunned only for one moment, kept shooting, and you were pulled behind a pillar with the rest. You felt useless. What could you do? Piloting a starship, like Anakin, wasn’t an option, for you’d never even driven a speeder. And your one hope of being helpful had just lifted off, like the ships had from the hangar, for the stone landing upon the droid’s metal hull had seemed little more than a feather landing upon a living being.

Living being... _That’s it_ , you thought, remembering the incensed cry of the horned man, the feeling of receiving Qui-Gon’s praise. “Nice shot,” you whispered to yourself as electricity shot through you, stimulating your nerves to fire and your muscles to contract, propelling you out of the passageway and into the hangar once again. Already you felt the desperation of the fight where it lingered in the air, and although the three opponents had moved on from that location, their energy called out to you through...the Force, you realized. That’s what gave you confidence and what stilled your heart, when you should have run in fear for your life. 

At the end of a long hallway, you came to a room filled with generators, and although the fight was visible, the sound of heavy machinery drowned out its noise. At the other side of the room, Obi-Wan leapt from a lower level as you’ve never seen anyone leap before and ran after his master, who was engaged with the Sith. _Kill_. 

You ran down the catwalk as fast as you could, watching as the dark warrior backed away through a hallway, Qui-Gon closely following and attacking with focused ferocity, and Obi-Wan chasing after them, desperate to help the other. Then, without warning, red lasers cut through the passageway, and both you and Obi-Wan skidded to a stop.

The terrible moment dragged on in silence, the Sith pacing, taunting, and the Jedi preparing for the next leg of the fight—Qui-Gon kneeling and Obi-Wan standing at the ready. Finally, Obi-Wan ignited his blue lightsaber, and the lasers receded. Immediately, the two of you sprinted forward as fast as you could; the racing of his heart, the urgency in his steps, matched your own.

Ahead of him, Qui-Gon pressed forward with his opponent, and only a few seconds went by before the lasers reinserted themselves and trapped Obi-Wan inside the last chamber and yourself outside of the hallway altogether. This time, there was nothing to see except Obi-Wan’s back, but the events were playing out so clearly in his mind, in his intuition, as he shook his arm and bounced on the balls of his feet. 

Later, you would realize how every moment had led up to the next, how the world had seemed to grow a little quieter, and the air a little more still, like everything in existence was holding its breath in anticipation of the cry that split the air. “NOOOOO!”

There was no mistaking its meaning, no way to misinterpret the hurricane of agony and disbelief that threatened to knock you over. The cry of a padawan for his master, of a son for his father—you shuddered, your breathing becoming more shallow, and tried desperately to shun the thought. 

Ahead of you, Obi-Wan’s aura blazed, redder and hotter than the lasers you viewed him through. Anguish and hatred were clear in the heaving of his shoulders, the shuffling of his feet, and the set line of his neck. The Sith, in contrast, appeared languid, unhurried but _frenzied_ all the same, and he paced in front of the Jedi with an air of a caged animal—despite being the one on the outside. 

Like a moth to a flame, his eyes locked onto yours. As he stopped walking, you stopped breathing, your heart crawled into your throat, and your stomach dropped out of your body altogether. He seemed to hover on a thought before his mouth curled into a thin smile, and he chuckled, a grating but smooth sound that seemed to crawl, deadly in the air, juxtaposing the hatred sweeping out of the Jedi, who was still fixated on his opponent.

Their emotions grew to a crescendo and wafted down the hallway—a gust of wind that whispered as it melted into you. Like a stroke of lightning, the air around you suddenly felt hot and constricting, but within you, your every molecule expanded as it froze with an icy chill. Your mind raced, but your body was stuck. Discordant, unrecognizable voices called out unintelligibly in your mind. Nevertheless, their meaning was clear. There was discipline and control, anguish and glee, conflict and resolve, and as your mind split apart with them, a whimper left your mouth, your knees hit the ground, and you sank into a freefall before everything went black. 

* * *

Obi-Wan paced around the small room of the Theed temple, his mind swirling, mixing the various subjects of his thoughts as it had done for the past three days. Outside, Qui-Gon Jinn’s body laid on a bier in the plaza, and as night began to creep in, Nabooans, Gungans, and Jedi alike began to amass to honor his late master. Soon, Obi-Wan would become a Master himself, to the young boy he had thought he would lose his own master to. He had promised Qui-Gon that it would be so, no matter that he had done so to spare the man any grief or pain in his last moments. 

“The Chosen One,” he whispered to himself as he gazed out at the green, rolling hills and the sparkling water below. Qui-Gon had believed passionately that that was what Anakin was, but Obi-Wan had been unsure. Indeed, his doubt was one of the causes for the rift between them that had just begun to heal before Qui-Gon’s death. Since that day, though, and despite the pain brought on by Qui-Gon’s handling of the situation, the tale of Anakin’s heroics in destroying the Federation’s control ship had stirred Obi-Wan to admit that he was, at least, special. 

Then, there was [Y/N], gifted, like Anakin, and different too, but in a way Obi-Wan couldn’t place his finger on. How it felt to be a fifteen-year-old—one who had fended for herself for Force knows how long— coming into this world of discipline and spirituality and, most importantly, of collective duty, he couldn’t imagine. She reminded him of Qui-Gon, in her defiance. He smiled, recalling her words before they’d left Coruscant: _I don’t need to practice._

_Let her tell Master Yoda that_ , Obi-Wan thought. Qui-Gon certainly would’ve been amused at the irony. He, who had been kept off the Council for his intransigent, yet eccentric, interpretations of the Code, had discovered the headstrong girl whom Yoda would take on as his Padawan learner. 

So willful was she, that she’d followed the battle—one that Obi-Wan had barely managed to survive. [Y/N] had looked barely alive; the image of her fallen, unconscious body flashed across his mind. Her life, however, had shined bright in the Force, and he had immediately scooped her up, shuffling along as fast as he could without jostling her. 

As he’d stood, trapped in the last chamber, only a wall of lasers between him and the Sith Lord, Obi-Wan had felt her presence, had seen how his opponent eyed her with dark anticipation. Confident that the lasers would block her way, and motivated by an intense rage—something he shuddered to admit—he had attacked with all his might, only to end up on a narrow ledge above the abyss. It was there that he had overcome his hatred and fear and had received the fortitude to win the battle from the only reliable fount: the Force.

Obi-Wan’s reverie ceased as the door opened, and the _click_ of Master Yoda’s cane echoed on the hard surfaces surrounding them. Even with a limp, he walked swiftly into the room, and Obi-Wan rushed forward to kneel in deference. 

Yoda continued walking, passing Obi-Wan, as he said, “Confer on you the level of Jedi Knight, the Council does.” Obi-Wan smiled, but a question lingered on his lips. Yoda, unsurprisingly, answered it with haste. “But agree with your taking on this boy as your Padawan learner, _I_ do not.”

Softly, Obi-Wan spoke. “Qui-Gon believed in him.”

The Grand Master sighed. “The Chosen One the boy may be. Nevertheless, grave danger I fear in his training.”

Obi-Wan retorted with practiced precision, determination filling him with warmth. “Master Yoda, I gave Qui-Gon my word. I will train Anakin.” 

“Oh!” grunted Master Yoda, who began to pace, releasing a fresh grunt with each step. 

Obi-Wan continued, the warmth spurring him on. “Without the approval of the Council, if I must.”

Yoda stopped but still looked away from him. “Qui-Gon’s defiance, I sense in you. Need that, you do not.” The Master drew in a deep breath and said, “Agree with you, the Council does.” His head turned slowly to look at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan was unsurprised to see the furrow in his brows and the narrowing of his eyes. “Your apprentice, the boy will be.”

At those words, Obi-Wan bowed his head, and Master Yoda walked back the way he came. Obi-Wan stood, noting that to do so took less effort than it had in the previous seventy two hours. A weight had lifted from his shoulders—a weight from being caught between two duties: to abide by the High Council and to remain true to his word. As he walked out of the temple, into the light of day, Obi-Wan Kenobi was relieved that he didn’t have to compromise one loyalty for the other. He could move on. All there was left to do was to tell Anakin and to grieve for the man who’d been his father in every way that counted. 

* * *

An icy chill. A stifling heat. A pressure in your mind that threatened to crush it into mush. Those eyes, those yellow eyes, and the _hate_ and the sick glee crashing into you, colliding with the anguish of another—both exerting an influence over you, at once indescribable and coherent. Then, blackness, and falling, falling, falling—

With a gasp, you sat up with so much momentum that you almost smashed your face into your knees, where they laid outstretched on the bed. 

“Woah!” said a familiar voice from beside you, the owner standing and moving closer to you. 

Your breathing was rapid and shallow, and you placed your palms flat over your face. Panic clawed at your mind, but Anakin’s joy—warm, soft—seeped in, like a dripping faucet. It did nothing to help you; it only reminded you of what you’d escaped, how the thoughts and emotions of the Jedi and the Sith had taken over.

The Sith. You jerked your arms away from your face and down to your waist, but there was only the soft texture of a...gown of some sort. Furrowing your brows, you turned your head and were met by Anakin’s wide eyes, almost level with your own. A hurried scan of the room revealed no Sith Lord and, more importantly, no fear, no anger, and no sorrow. But for the waning remainders of your panic and Anakin’s joy, the air was stale, neutral. You sighed in relief. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, his right hand twiddling with the edge of the bed sheet. 

Answering him never crossed your mind. It was instead preoccupied by the events from your last wakeful state, and questions tumbled from your mouth. “What happened? Where are we? The Sith Lord and Obi-Wan—who…?” You couldn’t finish the question, but it hung in the air.

Anakin looked down and shifted his feet, his joy falling away altogether and a nervous sorrow replacing it.

“I…” you started. He looked at you. “I know about Qui-Gonn. Obi-Wan, he…” Again, you couldn’t finish. The memory of Obi-Wan’s cry asserted itself into the moment, and it drifted dangerously close to your tongue. You clenched your jaw to prevent its release.

“Obi-Wan’s okay,” said Anakin, in that same quiet voice he’d used to talk about his mother on the journey from Tatooine to Coruscant.

“What day is it, Anakin? How long have I been...here?” you asked as you gestured to the white room of what you assumed to be a medcenter. With its pristine interior, you might have mistaken it for the Nabooan starship, if not for the rays of sunlight that warmed your neck and painted the room a glistening, yellow hue.

Your articulation cheered him up, and this new emotion contrasted his news. “Three days. Ever since the battle. We’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” He continued in a stream of words only partially digestible to your mush of a brain. “Obi-Wan defeated the Sith Lord, and I destroyed the droid control ship, which shut down _all the droids_ , and Padmé—I mean, the Queen—I mean, Padmé—captured the Viceroy, and we won the battle!”

After his speech, he smirked like he was five years older than nine years old, and you couldn’t help but let out a little grunt of a laugh. Anakin looked at you appreciatively, and a warm feeling flooded you, relaxed you. “Where’s Obi-Wan?” you asked.

“Just saw him, I did,” croaked Master Yoda as he hobbled into the room. Somehow, without the ring of other Masters around him, he appeared more intimidating, and you felt instantly more vulnerable, but his kind eyes settled on you as he let out a sigh. Then, he looked at Anakin. “Speak with you, young Skywalker, Obi-Wan will.”

Anakin looked at you, hope brimming in his eyes. You returned it with a smile of your own and a lifting of your brows. 

“Much to talk about, we have,” Master Yoda said as he slightly bowed his head toward you. Turning to Anakin, he continued. “Skywalker, speak to my Padawan, I must.”

“Okay,” he replied. “I’ll see you later, [Y/N]. I’m glad you’re awake.” The young boy then turned and left with someone dressed in the apparel of a Royal Guard member, leaving you alone with the small, green Jedi. 

He pointed a crooked finger at you, much like he had in the Council Chambers, and asked, “How feel you?”

You hesitated, and in the silence, the pressure in your head again introduced itself without invitation, and the cry of the pained Jedi raced to your tongue, almost making its way out before you clamped your lips shut—but not before a small whimper edged its way through the barricade. When it did, you covered your mouth with your hands and shook your head.

Your master answered the question reverberating in your mind. “Know, I do, why the emotions of the battle affected you so.” Your eyes widened, asking him to continue. “How feel you, the emotions of others?”

You furrowed your brows. “I don’t understand.”

Master Yoda hobbled into the chair beside the bed, grunting as he did so and fixing his eyes on you when he was settled. “Inside of you or outside of you, do you feel them?”

Your hands dropped to your lap, and you answered immediately. “Inside.” You were surprised, but your master, who nodded solemnly, was not.

“Inside, yes.” He paused, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Attuned to the feelings of those around us, we Jedi are.” He opened his eyes once more. “But you, young Padawan, how strong you feel them. Unusual, very unusual,” he commented.

You clutched at the blankets. “What can I do?” you asked, and once you began to speak, it was difficult to stop. “Master Yoda, I- I don’t want to feel that way again. It was like...like it was taking over me, and then nothing. And then I woke up here and—”

He held up a finger again. “Slow down, young one. In the present moment, place your mind. Feel the sun, the air, the blankets, the beating of your heart. Train you in this, I will, and safe, are you now. Fear, you need not, for all is as the Force wills it.”

As those words left his mouth, they floated through the air and placed a pleasant weight on your shoulders. It felt like you could hang all your hope on them.

Master Yoda smiled. “Know you, what happens to a living being after death?”

And with that word—death—your throat began to constrict. “Master Yoda—”

For the third time, he held up a three-fingered hand. “Transform into the Force, they do. Mourn them or miss them, do not. Rejoice for them.”

“Rejoice?” you said immediately, morbid curiosity igniting your veins as you crossed your legs and sat up straight.

Master Yoda nodded his wrinkled head, a twinkle gleaming in his eyes. “Yes, rejoice. One with the Force, Qui-Gon is. And what are we, but servants of the Force?” He paused to give you a meaningful look. “All life flows from the Force, young one, and death is a natural part of life.” 

You swallowed, digesting his words, and the subsequent silence felt louder than blaster fire. Yoda looked at you, his expression expectant but patient. Slowly, your mouth opened, but no sound came out. All that you’d strived to leave behind was at the entrance to your consciousness, not knocking, not calling out—just standing there, waiting. A black shadow. A shiver shook your ribs.

The Jedi Master in front of you nodded. “Speak about it, we will.” He sighed. “But now, a funeral to attend, we have.”

* * *

The logs crackled; it was the only sound. Around you, a chosen few stood around a burning pyre, their melancholy filling the air, a soft breeze on your skin that countered the warmth of the flames. Anakin stood beside you, and one quick glance showed his mouth set in a hard line. As the fire flickered, it was reflected in the glossy tears that threatened to leak from his eyes. To Anakin’s left stood Obi-Wan, his head covered by the hood of his robe and his eyes locked onto the memorial. You however, kept your gaze down, looking at anything other than the burning form of the man who’d brought you here. 

“Believed in you, he did,” were the last words Yoda had spoken to you before joining Master Windu at the far side of the gathering. Occasionally, he turned his attention to you, your awareness of it heightened, for the eyes of all the others remained fixed to the fire.

Almost all. Obi-Wan turned toward Anakin, who asked, “What will happen to me now?”

Obi-Wan’s answer was quick but compassionate. “The Council have granted me permission to train you,” Obi-Wan said. He paused. “You will be a Jedi. I promise.” 

The two faced forward again, and the crackling of the logs once again made its way to the forefront of your mind. 

Earlier, when you’d first entered the plaza, Obi-Wan had smiled pleasantly at you and said, “[Y/N]. I’m glad to see you’ve recovered.” 

“Thank you,” you’d said but had continued in your mind. _I’m glad you’re alive_.

In that earlier moment, the space had yet to be filled and light had still streamed down. All traces of it had long since passed, though, for the sky, visible through rectangular apertures in the domed, stone building, was now a saturated, blue-and-purple hue. 

Sitting on a ledge directly in front of one such aperture was your new Master. His head and the head of Master Windu were bent toward one another, and the glow from the fire danced upon their skin, bathing them in both shadows and golden light. Despite this, a cloud seemed to cover them, less an expression of sorrow and more of a foreboding of things to come, you sensed. The future was in Master Yoda’s eyes as they found yours, and he nodded at you, slow, and filled with understanding. 

You let out a sigh, barely audible even in the almost silent company. Endings—confronted with death, this was what laid heavy in your thoughts. Four days had passed between Qui-Gon discovering you and standing at his funeral, and in that time, you’d gone from a lonely orphan to a Padawan learner—although you were still unsure what this meant—but you’d also been caught up in endings: the end of what felt like a dream, the end of a battle, and the end of each moment, each breath. Everything had had a clear start and a clear finish—or so you’d thought.

Indeed, that’s what had kept you alive on the dusty, unforgiving streets of Mos Espa. But this was a different life, filled with people who smiled at you and waited for you and were glad that you were okay. It was a miracle that they saw you at all.

As if on cue, you caught Obi-Wan’s eye. A new thought struck you, then, and you turned away from him to nod back at your master, slow, and filled with understanding. Separating moments, days, and even weeks into distinct compartments would no longer do. You were a living, breathing part of a grand scheme that spanned the entire galaxy and bound everything together, and the ending wouldn’t come anytime soon.


End file.
